All for Myself
by Ninnik Nishukan
Summary: Petunia Evans was playing with her food…and then she was playing with fire. Petunia, Lily and Snape. Pre-Philosopher's Stone AU.
1. Muggle

**All ****for Myself**

Ninnik Nishukan

* * *

**Summary: **Petunia Evans was playing with her food…and then she was playing with fire. Petunia, Lily and Snape. Pre-_Philosopher's Stone_ AU. _  
_

* * *

_I'm sorry if I seem self-effacing__  
__Consumed by selfish thoughts__  
__It's only that I still love you deeply__  
__It's all the love I've got_

_Age of Adz_, Sufjan Stevens (2010)

* * *

Around the time when she started her third year of primary school, Petunia got into cleaning. She liked it because it felt so organised, so cathartic (although of course she didn't have such a vocabulary at age seven)…it felt like control, removing all the dust and all the stains, like she was Queen of Purification and Perfection. She kept her desk and her little book shelf at school spick and span, but most of all, she adored tidying and cleansing the kitchen at home, which always seemed to get so dirty so fast. It earned her some actual praise (they still didn't say she was pretty, but at least she was something that Lily wasn't), and it was wonderful.

But it was nothing compared to when she got into cooking.

Later, she would find it supremely ironic that her parents had actually viewed _Petunia _as the odd child before they'd discovered Lily's magical abilities.

It happened one day when she was almost thirteen, and her Mother caught a cold when she was supposed to assist in the local church flea market and bake sale.

For whatever reason, Petunia immediately volunteered to do the baking for her. If she only had the recipes, she reckoned she could handle it. She ran to the kitchen, sifting through her mother's collection of cook books. If she'd stopped to think, it might've occurred to her that she was acting as though she was desperate to prove something.

Two hours later, she looked up from her fevered measuring and mixing and it dawned on her that she'd got utterly carried away. She'd just become so enthralled with the list of ingredients and the instructions, with how all its fiddly little tasks seemed to demand her accuracy and attentiveness.

For the first time since she was a toddler, she realised, she'd made a terrible mess of the kitchen. A sticky, sweet, dark mess.

But the cake in the oven was rising, and she was mesmerised. When she finally took it out, she stared. That sticky, sweet, dark mess had turned into something entirely different. Something warm, soft and puffy; something beautiful.

And it didn't matter. She'd clean the kitchen afterwards, and she'd be quick and thorough about it as usual.

Her heart felt like it was shrinking, however, when she slid the cake out of the oven, set it gently to cool for a minute, and finally cut a small piece for herself so she could test it.

It didn't taste anything like it should have. Somehow, she knew exactly what a cake like that should be like, even if she'd never seen her mother try this recipe before, and this was nothing like it.

Gritting her teeth, she pushed the cooling cake aside and grabbed the recipe book again. This was not good enough.

It wasn't her, she realised when she'd finished baking and trying another. It had been the recipe itself. It wasn't her. She was neat, precise, by the book.

When she realised it was the recipe, she went back, and she did something she'd never done before. She, a child who always dressed and acted properly, a child who always lingered on the teacher's and her parents' every word, a child who'd never even coloured outside the lines, changed the instructions.

After she'd finished her little experiment, she changed the instructions.

Picking up a pencil, she primly crossed out the line that said "two cups of low-fat milk" and replaced it with "two cups of apple juice". She didn't even care that her mother might scold her for scribbling in her books.

What had previously _looked_ good but _tasted_ like a spongy lump now both looked _and_ tasted _delicious_.

It really wasn't her. It was just the instructions. And now she'd made her tiny rebellion.

* * *

Next, like a student moving on to an advanced class, she tried soufflés. She'd heard they were supposed to be difficult.

When she stood there, crouched in front of the oven, with her nose practically touching the hot glass of the door, watching the soufflé rising like a magnificent chocolate cloud, she felt like a French chef.

The way these mixtures could transform like this…it was almost like mag—

Never mind.

It was fascinating, that's what it was. Yes, that was a better word.

Her parents were completely baffled when she served them this secret dessert after dinner. For once, nobody mentioned Lily, who was currently at school.

Petunia's culinary experiments raged on. She went through entire cook books, running into the kitchen each day after school, and the odd thing was that her parents indulged her. Perhaps, if she'd stopped to think, in between sautéing onions, stirring béchamel, marinating lamb cutlets and folding croissant dough as carefully as an artist folding a tiny, delicate paper crane, she might've wondered why her parents were this liberal about her new obsession, and might've come to the conclusion that it was connected, like a lot of things were, to her rejection from Hogwarts.

Petunia only reasoned it was because she didn't let it interfere with school and because her parents enjoyed her cooking. It didn't really occur to her that at least some of the ingredients she used were fairly expensive. Perhaps if she'd stopped to think, she'd have noticed there had been fewer gifts at Christmas than usual for both sisters, or that Mum hadn't bought a new frock in quite a while, or that Dad's shoes were starting to look sort of worn, or why they were going to their grandparents' house this summer instead of staying at a Bed & Breakfast somewhere as usual.

Or perhaps, if she'd stopped to think, she might've blamed Lily and her expensive school supplies and school fees. Perhaps it wouldn't even have crossed her mind that her parents were compensating for something.

Neighbourhood children sometimes wondered why she wasn't outside, riding her bike or playing.

Nobody knew that, beneath the proper, polished façade, she _was_ playing.

* * *

One evening, at fifteen, while she was all alone, cooking a gorgeous-smelling lamb fricassee for her parents, who would soon come home, she wore her protective goggles from the chemistry lab. That is, they weren't actually _hers_. She'd borrowed them. It wasn't stealing. She would put them back.

She felt giddy.

* * *

When Lily came home for the summer before her fifth year, she praised Petunia.

Her green eyes were wide with astonishment as she tasted the meticulously prepared dinner; coq au vin, with crêpes flambé to follow. "Tuney?" she asked, staring, "Did you really make this? How did you—? This is like stuff from a posh restaurant!"

A queasy cocktail of smug superiority, sweet revenge, humble gratefulness and fluttery happiness coiled around in Petunia's gut as she was subjected to Lily's bright, delighted smile. She never quite knew if she wanted to impress her, overshadow her or beg for her approval. Had she made this as Lily's welcome home dinner, as a gift to her, or had she made it so her parents would forget all about their golden child's return and focus on their other daughter instead? Or both?

"My word, Petunia," Father said, dabbing at his blonde moustache with a napkin and beaming at her, "this is simply delicious!"

Petunia felt her face go warm and red, pride, joy and embarrassment bubbling up in her throat; she found herself unable to say anything.

"It's almost better than the grub they serve us at Hogwarts, Tuney," insisted Lily cheerfully, "and they've got dozens of specially trained house elves working together and everything!"

Petunia's smile faltered a bit. She didn't like hearing about that place.

"Why, I'm starting to believe it runs in the family," Mother chirped, sounding pleased, "you should take a look at Lily's report card, Potions is her best subject!"

Now, Petunia's smile had vanished completely, her face going pale. So now when she finally wasn't completely obscured by Lily's talents, she still had to _share_ the spotlight?

When was it going to be her turn? She'd already had to endure years of dinner conversation revolving around what Lily might be getting up to at Hogwarts— even _after _she began her curious culinary career! If only they hadn't already been spending so much time talking about Lily even before she entered the magical world, Petunia might've been able to believe they only chattered on about her because they missed her.

"Potions?" Petunia asked in a tiny, dull voice.

"We make magical substances to help, heal, control, transform or coerce. I suppose it's _sort_ _of_ like Chemistry," explained Lily, tilting her head pensively at Petunia, "or cooking, really. I mean, we have to get it just right, just the right ingredients, and just the right amounts of them, and we have to prepare them exactly right before we mix them together, or put them in the cauldron to cook, and then we have to cook them exactly right, or else it's…well, a sunken soufflé, metaphorically speaking," she added, with a giggle.

Suddenly, Petunia felt silly for thinking of soufflés as something advanced.

"And you do rather well in Chemistry, don't you, Petunia?" chimed in Mother, then. "You got an A on your last test, didn't you?"

Her stomach fluttered, the previous feelings of pride flaring up again for a moment, but it was too late. The cold, squirmy, and above all _familiar_ feeling of disappointment just wouldn't let go.

Petunia could only nod in reply to her mother's questions. If she opened her mouth, she felt she'd shout something really, really…unfortunate, and probably directed at Lily. She couldn't bear getting scolded for ruining the family reunion on top of having to listen to her parents doting on Lily again.

"Your hair has got so long since Christmas, Lily," said her father, tugging playfully at Lily's beautiful, red hair. "How about you get your mother to cut it tomorrow afternoon?"

"Oh, that'd be lovely," Mother agreed, fiddling for a moment with her own, shorter red locks, "I could do with a trim myself, I think."

Laughing, Lily batted her father's hand away. "It's supposed to be this way, it's the current fashion, Dad," she said nonchalantly, before letting slip a grin, "besides, when it needs cutting, I'll do it with magic when I get back to school…Isadora Brown taught me an _excellent_ spell for it…!"

_I just bet she did_, thought Petunia darkly, reduced to mocking her sister inside her own head.

"Well, that's the first really practical spell I've heard of," chuckled Mother, "you'll have to teach me that one!"

"Oh, ha ha, Mum." As Lily rolled her eyes at her mother's intentionally foolish joke, Petunia wanted to gag.

The way Lily had described Potions, it dawned on Petunia later that evening, it didn't sound like there was any wand magic involved, only the mixing of ingredients, and possibly a cauldron…in fact, it sounded almost like making soup, at which she was very, very skilled.

It sounded, in fact, like something a…a _Muggle _could do.

The next afternoon, when Lily was outside (probably up to no good with that horrid Snape boy), Petunia snuck into her room.

_Magical Drafts and Potions_, she read, only to scoff as she noticed the name of the author. Arsenius Jigger? What sort of name was _that_? Sounded like a circus freak!

Nevertheless, when she was back in her own room, she was clutching the book.

It took her about half an hour to copy down the potions she thought looked interesting (including a couple of potions from a loose note stuffed inside the book, marked 'Adv. P., ask Sluggy and Sev') and return the book to Lily's room, who never even knew she'd been there.

* * *

The ingredients were even stranger than she'd expected. That was a snag. Half the words she'd never even heard of— Flobberworms? Bicorn horns?— and knew she wouldn't find any of them in any ordinary shops. So Petunia came to the conclusion that she'd have to swallow her stubborn pride and visit…_that _world, or she'd never get anywhere with her little project.

So when the day came when their parents usually took Lily shopping for school supplies, she slinked towards the kitchen, peering moodily at her family as they were eating breakfast.

"Err…"

Her father looked up. "Yes, luv? Don't you want any breakfast?"

Realizing she was half-way hiding behind the door, as if spying on them, she cleared her throat and entered the kitchen, sitting down on her usual seat. "Morning, Dad, Mum…Lily," she began, stalling for time, and stalling further by picking up a piece of toast and spreading marmalade on it, "I was just thinking…"

Her mother put down her tea cup, wiping crumbs from her mouth with a napkin and glancing at her daughter with interest. "What about?"

Petunia bit her lip, hesitating again. "Maybe it's time I came with you all to…to Diagon Alley."

"Finally!" Lily cheered, throwing her hands up in triumph. "Seriously, Tuney, I've got _so_ much to show you!"

When Petunia saw the way her sister's face lit up, she almost felt guilty, but only almost. Lily had always been so eager to flaunt the magical world in front of Petunia, her enthusiasm apparently making her oblivious of her sister's discomfort and jealousy…an obliviousness that was almost worse to bear than if she'd been making Petunia jealous on purpose. Did Lily honestly not see that showing her things from a world she'd been effectively shut out of was like insisting on offering ice cream to a lactose intolerant child? Was she really that obtuse, or did she simply not care how much it hurt her sister?

Petunia had spent the last few years pondering these questions, and had yet to find any answers.

Never mind, though. She could at least make an attempt at bringing part of that world to _her_ instead.

* * *

Petunia had been there before— only once, before she knew for certain she was rejected— so she had at least some idea of the layout of Diagon Alley, but new shops seemed to have popped up like toadstools, and a couple that she remembered from the last time had apparently gone out of business.

What had not changed in the slightest, however, was the bustle of the place. It was crowded, cramped and ten thousand different odours and noises seemed to be simultaneously assaulting her nostrils and eardrums.

As they stepped out of the Leaky Cauldron, Petunia's hands went to her sides, her back going ramrod straight, as she was suddenly surrounded by…well, a sea of freaks, varying from weird to weirder. There were pointy hats, clothing with an indecent amount of different colours all at once (making her think it was a miracle her eyes hadn't started watering yet), people carrying their cats and birds around as if they were fashionable accessories, and there were grown men in robes and pointy shoes and grown women with ridiculous hairstyles that looked like something was nesting in them; for all she knew, there probably was.

It didn't help that she was already feeling nauseous, either. She hadn't enjoyed using the Floo Network much the first time, and disliked it even more now.

"Isn't it wonderful, Tuney?" enthused Lily, entwining their arms and gently pulling her sister along, beaming from ear to ear. "I'm so glad you decided to come with," she added, sounding so sincere Petunia felt like shrinking in on herself.

"It's certainly colourful," Petunia remarked, surprised to hear her own voice escaping her mouth without any irony.

So she dutifully went along with her family to Gringotts to exchange some "Muggle money" for so-called "Galleons, Sickles and Knuts", before buying Lily's new textbooks at Flourish and Blott's and her new quills at Amanuensis Quills. When they were back at the fairly calm Leaky Cauldron to have some lunch on one of its long, wooden tables, she mostly sat in silence, nearly spending more time chewing the inside of her cheek than her shepherd's pie, lost in thought while going over her plan.

"Where do you fancy going next, Petunia, dear?" Mother piped up suddenly. Her plate was empty, and she was leaning forward eagerly now, sipping at her steaming cup of tea and obviously in a good mood.

"I think I'm just…going to go look around a bit by myself," said Petunia, avoiding their eyes. She hadn't even noticed they were all done eating already.

Father frowned, his eyes meeting Mother's in consultation before he turned back to his daughter. "But Tuney, I'm not sure that's such a good idea…"

"Come on, Dad," she pleaded, "I'm sixteen, and it's my first time here…there's so much for me to see, and I don't want to keep you waiting since you've seen it all before. I'll meet up with you after the rest of your errands, all right?"

Lily eyed her sister for minute before finally nodding. "It's okay, Dad, I'll have to go for my robe fitting at Madam Malkin's next and then go look for a new cauldron, and that'll just be boring for Tunes, anyway."

Father hesitated. "We-ell…"

Throwing all dignity to the wayside, Petunia actually pouted at her father. "Please?"

She thought she caught Lily muffling a giggle behind the baggy sleeve of her top. Mother seemed to be hiding a grin as well.

Sighing, Father smiled. "Have you got enough wizard money, then, luv?"

"Plenty, Dad, thank you," Petunia cooed, elated that her plan was working. "I'll meet you back here in an hour!"

"But at least finish your lunch!" she heard father calling after her as she hurried off to her new future, her cheeks glowing with anticipation.

* * *

To be honest, Petunia had no idea where to get the ingredients, and therefore felt a sigh of relief escape her when she spotted a sign that said Slug & Jigger's Apothecary. 'Apothecary' sounded about right…not to mention that she recognised Jigger's name from Lily's Potions textbook.

The clerk looked up when she entered the shop, as a bell signalled her arrival, but thankfully left her alone as she ducked between a couple of shelves and started to read the labels of the first containers she saw while trying her best to ignore the overwhelming jumble of alien smells. She'd simply find the ingredients herself and leave as quickly as possible; she was deathly afraid she'd somehow receive any questions only a witch might be able to answer.

"Decided to go slumming, have we?"

Startled, Petunia almost dropped the jar of something dried and dark green she'd distractedly picked up in her search. She whirled around, poised for flight. Her eyes narrowed when she saw who'd addressed her.

Severus Snape was giving her a look that was far too patronizing for somebody who was wearing second- or even third-hand clothing and looked like they hadn't washed their hair in a week. "I thought you'd decided you were too good for a world full of…what did you call them? Oh, yes…freaks."

"And I thought you'd decided that I was just a _Muggle_, and therefore uninteresting," she flung back at him, once she'd composed herself. "So what could you _possibly_ want?"

"_Naturally_ I wish to know what a Muggle such as yourself is doing alone in the shop where I buy my Potions supplies," he parried snidely.

"I'm only picking up some things from Lily's list while she's doing her other errands," Petunia said loudly, looking down her nose at him; a good trick, considering he'd finally grown taller than her, "I think she's having her robes fitted about now."

To her satisfaction, the boy's sallow face flushed pink at the mention of her sister, as she'd expected it would.

She smirked. "You should run along…_Sev_. She said she was buying a new cauldron next, maybe you can catch her."

Glaring at her, Severus nevertheless hurried to pay for his ingredients and left in a rush.

Confidence restored, Petunia walked up to the counter to ask the clerk for assistance. When she presented her assembled list of ingredients, the old man was most helpful, and never asked her whether she was a real witch or not.

Fortunately, the containers of ingredients and the containers she'd bought in which to keep the potions were tinier than she'd thought, and all fit into the spacious wicker handbag she'd brought for the occasion. When her Mother asked her what the clinking noise from her bag was, she claimed she'd bought some bottles with which to collect pretty pebbles and sand during their next visit to her grandparents' house at the beach. She only hoped they wouldn't ask to see her "collection" later.

* * *

She was cautious. Oh, so cautious, even if her hands were shaking a bit. She'd spent hours preparing the ingredients in her room, and had already been working on the potion itself for half an hour out in the garden shed on Dad's old camping cooker.

The flobberworm mucus was disgusting, but Petunia was used to filth and stubborn stains. Like a soldier strapping on his kit, she'd tied on her biggest apron, put on her thickest gloves and slipped on the protective goggles that she'd once again borrowed from the Chemistry lab. Petunia was nothing if not sensible and pragmatic.

Applying the flobberworm mucus to the potion, which was green by now, she watched in fascination as it turned pink. Turning up the heat, her intent gaze followed the swirling developments, waiting for the liquid to turn orange. Then she took the pot of the heat.

As she gingerly sprinkled the dried nettles into the pot, her hand felt steadier. She stirred, putting the pot back onto the heat and waiting for the next reaction.

It took a while, but it finally turned blue. Elated, she added the meticulously crushed snake fangs and did a silent cheer when the potion turned a nice pink again.

Slowly lifting the pot off of the heat again, she dropped the porcupine quills into the mixture and watched as it turned orange again under her skilful hand, stirring away. Finally, it was time for the pre-stewed horned slugs, which she'd been dreading. They did not smell particularly fetching, but as she poured, the potion eventually turned turquoise.

Now she had come to the last step; putting the pot back on the heat, she hummed under her breath, stirring until it turned nice and red; she kept going until it turned an even more pleasing pink.

The year before, she'd overheard her parents discussing her in the kitchen, expressing their concerns about whether she suffered from obsessive-compulsive disorder. Well, if that was the case, it seemed her attention to detail was finally paying off.

At least…it had if the potion did in fact _work_.

Petunia found she was trembling when she walked up to the mirror in her room the next day, having post-poned the first test run out of fear, not surprised at all at how pale her reflection seemed to her. Pale, that was, except for the irritating boil lodged halfway between her nose and her cheek, which was the reason for her first choice in potion-making.

Pulling the cork out of the small bottle, she dabbed a wad of cotton against the opening, watching the pink liquid soaking into the cotton. Reluctantly, she set the bottle aside and lifted a shaky hand to her face, wiping the wet cotton gently across the blemished skin.

Then she removed it, closing her eyes, and counting backwards from a hundred. When she eventually opened her eyes, her breathing having turned shallow and nervous, she was stunned.

It was gone. The boil was gone. Just like that.

A warm ripple of delighted shock went through her. This was better than cleaning. Better than cooking. This was the single most exhilarating moment in her entire life up to that very day.

She, Petunia Evans, had done magic…completely without magic. Completely without doing anything disturbing that normal, decent people shouldn't be able to do at all, and had no business doing. She was only making abnormal _things_, that didn't mean she was abnormal _herself_…but quite possibly, it meant she was _extraordinary_.

For days, she was practically vibrating with excitement, going outside and riding her bike at full speed, too distracted to even cook dinner, so she reasoned she should do something easier next, just to calm her nerves.

The Murtlap essence she made from carefully strained and pickled Murtlap tentacles took care of the skinned knee she'd got from crashing on her bike.

As she continued her experiments, Petunia ached to show her success to Lily, fluctuating between wanting to gloat or be praised, but even if Lily had been home, she was likely to be horrified. Petunia knew she was probably messing with something she shouldn't be messing with. There were probably laws. She knew Lily wasn't allowed to use magic outside of school before she turned seventeen, so what would they do if an under-aged _Muggle_ used magic? But did potions count? Technically, she hadn't used magic, she supposed; because she _couldn't_, really, even if she'd wanted to. She _had_ no magic.

Some days, as she stood there concocting another alien substance with another bizarre name in secret, she wondered if the witches she'd heard about in stories…if they were really just Muggles who'd been doing the very same thing she was doing now, doing things they probably shouldn't, and not being able to escape persecution because they didn't have the ability to fly or…or _apparate_, she thought Lily called it?

She wasn't quite sure how she felt about that.

Other days, she stood looking in her mirror at her longish face, slightly protruding teeth and pointy nose, longing to make an attempt at some sort of beautification potion, because even before Lily's special talents had been revealed, her dark red, thick, sleek hair, unusually green eyes and heart-shaped face had always gained her a lot of attention. It wasn't that Lily was some sort of stunning fairy tale beauty— she didn't have much in the way of chest, hips or bum, moved a bit boyishly at times, and her very fair complexion tended to burn and peel if she stayed too long in the sun— the problem was that next to Petunia, she may as well have been. It was the inevitable comparison that hurt Petunia and only made Lily even prettier. Where Lily was slender, Petunia was awkwardly underweight and too tall for her age. Her blonde hair somehow paled in comparison to her sister's, even if all the women in the magazines and films were blonde, and her pale blue eyes looked wan and lifeless when juxtaposed to the startlingly green, laughing eyes of Lily.

Yet Petunia had never worked up the nerve to try to find out about a potion that might improve her own looks.

When she made a tiny mistake with her Confusing and Befuddlement draught, adding just a bit too much scurvy-grass, and then accidentally spilling some of it on a mushroom in the back garden, watching wide-eyed as it transformed into something pulsating and mushy before it burst quietly like a trodden-upon, overripe tomato, she lost even more of her nerve. Then and there, she made the snap decision to never try any of the more appearance-altering potions on herself, never mind the mind-altering ones.

No force on Earth could stop her from continuing to use the magical cleaning solution she'd made with diluted Bundimun secretion, however. It was just far too efficient to give up.

Following the incident was a nightmare in which she was drinking a delicious cup of tea, only to find her brain turning literally mushy in her skull, starting to pour out of her ears as she simply knew, in the way you did in dreams, that Lily must've put something magical in her drink. For some reason, she also thought she could hear a familiar, condescending scoff.

Rolling over in her bed, Petunia squeezed her eyes shut and tried to get back to sleep.

What with her disturbing experience, and what with her nightmares, Petunia had no idea what urged her to make Polyjuice Potion her next venture.

_TBC._

* * *

**Author's note****s: **I don't know how the hell this happened. I thought I'd never write a Harry Potter fic. It probably had something to do with the fact that I've been listening to the HP audio books (because of Stephen Fryyy, national treasuuuure), because I was baking a cake a few days ago (and Petunia is like the Überhousewife, yikes), and because the deleted Petunia scene from DH makes me cry like a baby.

**In case you're wondering, t****here will be more Snape in the next chapter. :P **

**Feel free to britpick this fic as much as you like in the reviews.** Being that I am Norwegian, and have been taught British English in school/at university, but am constantly being exposed to American English in the mass media, my writing reflects this by being a jolly hybrid of the two. I've tried to avoid the most obvious American English expressions and such, but…

**Feel free to correct me if I got any HP facts wrong, too. I'm not an expert. :P**

**Isadora Brown: **Lavender Brown's mother, who wasn't given a first name in the books, as far as I've understood it, so I took the liberty to give her one for this story. I assume (for the sake of the story) she also went to Hogwarts, and that she was probably also in Gryffindor. I just needed a name for a school mate for Lily who'd be likely to have beauty advice. **  
**

This potions stuff suddenly had me intrigued, out of the blue. I mean, technically…it's pretty much the one kind of magic that Muggles should be able to do, right? Maybe I'm wrong, but hey, I thought it was an amusing concept. I wonder how many times I wrote the word "potions" in this fic. :P I'm assuming the potions ingredients can't be THAT expensive, or the school and/or the students wouldn't be able to afford them. After all, if even Ron Weasley can buy his ingredients… :D

**Sources used for potions:** _The Harry Potter Lexicon: Encyclopedia of Potions_ and_ List of Potions: Harry Potter Wiki. _I chose the potions where the highest amount of ingredients and/or instructional details were available.

**Sources used for Diagon Alley stuff:** _Diagon Alley: Harry Potter Wiki._


	2. Magic

**All for Myself**

Ninnik Nishukan

* * *

**Summary: **Petunia Evans was playing with her food…and then she was playing with fire. Petunia, Lily and Snape. Pre-_Philosopher's Stone_ AU.

* * *

Perhaps she was making Polyjuice Potion because (after only mixing cleaning solution for a couple of weeks) it sounded like a challenge, especially since it took so long to make, or maybe it was because she'd rationalised it by deciding she wouldn't be using it on _herself_, after all, but only on the cat and the dog.

Petunia promptly ignored the momentary, dizzying fantasy of turning herself into her sister and waltzing off to Hogwarts.

The reason why she chose that potion didn't matter, anyway. What mattered was that she was now standing in a cramped room that was rapidly being overtaken by misty, purple-hued smoke and watching a pot whose contents were moving jerkily, spasming, as if they were _alive_. If only she'd been out in the garden shed as usual, but it was far too cold, so she'd been forced to move her project to the bathroom.

Perhaps, she thought absently, dog hairs weren't suited for this potion, perhaps it could only be human hair, or perhaps that fluxweed hadn't been picked at full moon as advertised, or perhaps she hadn't powdered the bicorn horn finely enough, or perhaps she'd misunderstood what "unsucculating" the leeches meant, or perhaps she hadn't let it all sit long enough before she'd _finally_ added the dog hairs—

She shook her head, staring at the bubbling pot, her skin crawling with the rising panic.

What if it blew up? What was she supposed to _do_?

_Spinner's end_, she thought wildly, feeling faint, _that __**boy**__…!_

_**He'd**__ know! _

Lily was with their parents, out Christmas gift shopping, from which Petunia had begged off by claiming to have caught a cold, but that _boy_…she knew he was home for the holidays as well, and there was no chance that he was out buying any gifts— surely not with a family like _his_, and not when he couldn't even afford any decent clothes!

But somehow, her feet weren't moving down the stairs and out the front door. She just couldn't ask for his help. She could practically hear his derisive laugh already. Petunia had enough self-awareness to know she wasn't exactly a ray of sunlight herself, but that horrible Snape boy…he was just _cold_. Cold, sharp and resentful. Everything about him— his eyes, his voice, his mannerisms, his clothes, his hair— was either offensive or vile, or both.

Her stomach twisting with anger at her own stupidity, she bolted to the small bathroom window and threw it open, a blast of cold, sharp air hitting her; she was suddenly not caring about the neighbours finding out. The room had become too unbearable.

As she was leaning across the window frame and gulping air, watching the purplish smoke spewing out of the window and floating upwards, she heard the sound of footsteps on a combination of gravel and hardened snow.

Her gaze dropping, she caught sight of the very boy she'd just been thinking of, lurking near the house, his hand resting tentatively on the picket fence gate. No doubt, he was there to see _her_.

Petunia drew another breath, desperately wanting to interrupt him before he asked her, in that dodgy, grumpy, not-quite-meeting-your-eyes sort of way he had, whether Lily was home. Now, in the hour of what she saw as her greatest failure since…since Hogwarts, she did not _need _to hear anything about _Lily_.

It was already enough to know that the loathsome boy, with his overlarge, abused old coat that made him look like a flapping bat when he ran (and she'd had ample opportunity to see him wince and run every time one of his parents yelled for him), braved staying with his wretched family each Christmas instead of remaining at Hogwarts just so he could see his beloved Lily over the holidays, like some sort of twisted parody of a prince.

He was quicker than her, however. "Don't _tell _me you're actually trying to do _magic_," he said bluntly, a spark of nervous anger behind the accusation as his eyes flicked between her and the purple smoke, which had started sputtering out tiny sparks by now. They reminded her of the sparklers she and Lily had played with at New Year's Eve as children, and looked altogether unnatural.

For a few seconds, she simply gaped at him, torn between feeling indignation at his condescending tone and relief from the fact that he hadn't mentioned Lily yet.

"I take it your sister isn't home, or I highly doubt you'd find yourself in this mess," he continued, however, in that snide tone of his that always made her skin itch. So much for keeping her sister out of the conversation for once.

"Oh, of _course_ not," she spat, with acidic sarcasm, "or Lily Evans the Potions master would already be saving the day, wouldn't she?"

Petunia watched his eyebrows rise, and realised with some surprise that her poisonous comeback had actually impressed him a little. "If you let me in, I can fix this," he deadpanned. "Muggles shouldn't play around with things they couldn't possibly understand."

Sighing, she went downstairs to do just that, not finding the energy to bicker anymore. She was finally starting to worry about the neighbours.

* * *

Severus hadn't been lying. He could fix it. Even without magic, he could fix it.

It was almost annoying how easy he did it, too. He simply walked up to the smoking pot and dabbed a couple of drops of clear liquid into it from a tiny vial he'd pulled out of one of his mysterious, large coat pockets; the potion abruptly calming down, the smoke gradually evaporating.

"Usually I just use a simple vanishing spell," he explained, when he caught her flabbergasted look, "but since I can't use magic outside of school, I invented this little elixir so I could still practice my Potions during the summer."

Still staring at the now almost offensively serene pot, she only nodded.

Severus stroked his chin as he examined the pot; he looked ridiculous, she thought, like he was trying to imitate a clever old man. "Hmmm…judging by the look of this horrid sludge, I'd say you were attempting to make Polyjuice Potion," he sneered, almost more at the pot rather than at her, as he gave the wooden stirring spoon a guarded poke; it barely moved, only producing a disgusting, wet sucking noise from the depths of the pot, "and judging by the putrid smell, and the amount and colour of the smoke, I'd say you not only took a wrong turn somewhere with the instructions, but that you've also managed to get some sort of animal hair mixed up in it…I've seen it happen dozens of times, and I keep wondering why people _insist_ on bringing their little _pests_ to school…" he added in a mutter, hunching over and glowering at the brown-green gloop in the pot.

Meekly, she cleared her throat. "You're not…supposed to…?"

Straightening his back, he sent her a nearly pitying look. "Oh, but you actually _intended _to put that animal hair in…didn't you?" he said with feigned sadness, shaking his head at her.

Petunia's face felt ablaze with embarrassment. "The recipe didn't say, so how was I supposed to know?" she spat, itching to throttle this _nasty_, rude boy who came into her house in those _rags_, and was _younger_ than her, yet acted as if _he_ was an adult and _she_ was some sort of disobedient _child_—

Then she noticed him starting to take in the other interesting objects of the room. She had to squash down the abrupt urge to lunge forward like a small girl trying to grab her most embarrassing diary from a local bully. It was silly, she knew, but she liked to have her finished potions nearby when she was working, so she could look at them for inspiration.

"Well, well, well, it looks like this wasn't your first attempt, after all," Severus goaded as he perused the small wicker baskets in which she'd lovingly nestled her potions among soft, shredded napkins, like fragile Easter eggs. "Of course, I already had a suspicion you were up to something when I met you at Slug & Jigger's…"

"Yes, yes, very amusing," she said, stepping up to him and getting ready to pull him out the door by his arm if she had to. "Listen, I do appreciate your help, but really, I think it's time for you to leave…"

Severus' eyes narrowed as he took a much closer look at her experiments. "You know, these are actually…"

Petunia steeled herself, lifting her chin defiantly as she waited for the withering look and the harsh judgement.

"Not bad."

She blinked, almost startled. "What?"

"Yes," he drawled, his long, thin fingers curling around the flask she'd poured the Elixir to Induce Euphoria into, "some of these could _clearly_ do with a bit of work, but they're still better than some of the foul slop most of my classmates cook up…I mean, at least the colour of this looks exactly right."

"Sunshine yellow," she heard herself murmur, dazed by the concept of being deemed better at anything than anyone at that wretched school, even if the evaluation was coming from Severus Snape.

"Yes, and," he went on, unstoppering the flask and sniffing at its contents, before putting the stopper back, "the scent seems right as well. You remembered the peppermint. If nothing else, you're at least capable of occasionally following instructions properly." His gaze darted up to meet hers, and seemed to be scanning her intently. "Have you _tried_ any of these?"

She swallowed, wondering if he'd be able to tell she'd been too afraid to try some of them. "I've…not all of them. Some I just made to see if I could. I've mostly just been using the magical cleaning fluids and the Murtlap essence and…uh…" she paused, her face slowly turning red, "…the Boil-cure Potion."

This, however, didn't seem to faze him; she suspected he'd probably had a few boils himself at one point or another. He also hadn't commented on the heavy rubber apron she was wearing over her yellow blouse and embroidered blue jeans, or the rubber boots and gloves, or the frizzy, dishevelled state of her normally curly blonde hair; not that he had any right to criticise her, considering his own jeans looked ancient, his black boots and charcoal-coloured jumper and coat were not only too big, but too thin-looking for winter, and his hair was as lank as ever. Nevertheless, she'd taken the time to at least remove her goggles and run a glove-covered hand through her hair before answering the door.

"And these potions _worked_?" he prodded, sounding intrigued now.

Her chin rose again; this time with self-satisfaction. "They did what the book said they would, yes."

Severus chuckled briefly; coming from him, it was a foreign sound. "Would that book be one of Lily's?"

"Who _else's_?" she answered at once, refusing to feel embarrassed again. He could already tell she'd been sneaky about it, and he didn't seem to have any objections.

"The instructions for Elixir to Induce Euphoria are written in _Advanced Potion-Making_ by Libatius Borage, and we're not using that book until _sixth_ year…not to mention Polyjuice Potion, which, to my knowledge, can only be found in _Moste Potente Potions_, which can in turn only be found in the restricted section at the Hogwarts library or in other wizarding libraries," he remarked with a deceptive kind of casualness, glancing sidelong at her, "so where did you get them?"

So _that_ was what 'Adv. P.' had meant, Petunia thought, once again struck by the discovery that she'd done better than she'd thought despite her failure du jour— Advanced Potions! _Advanced_! Perhaps that was why the clerk at the Apothecary hadn't questioned her ingredient list, too; because she'd been old enough to be a sixth year. Briefly, she wondered if Severus knew who 'Sluggy' was, but didn't dare ask.

"There was a note in the Jigger-whatsit book," she said, shrugging, "she must've asked an older student about it and copied them down, I don't know…ask her, not me." _She's probably trying to get ahead, overachieving just to get even more attention_, she added sullenly to herself, pursing her lips for a second as she then toyed with the thought of mentioning the fact that his name had been on Lily's note, dismissing it quickly as she realised it'd only give the pitifully smitten boy even more false hope.

Severus sent her a lingering look of appraisal, breaking it only when she began to feel discomposed. He then picked up another bottle; this one smaller, its contents a lovely, pale blue. "You haven't been tempted to use the Wit-sharpening Potion yet, have you?" he queried, showing her a sly smirk.

"Ignoring that pathetic attempt at an insult," she replied smoothly, secretly pleased with herself for it, "using the potion would be cheating, as I assume that's what you wizards and witches use it for at school."

"Then why did you make it?" he shot back.

"We had some extra ginger root lying around and I reckoned I could try it," she explained, again pleased with how careless and blasé she sounded. "You're welcome to it if you need to pass your exams," she added flatly, biting back a grin.

"Well, aren't we _droll_?" One dark eyebrow arched for a second. "Despite your obvious ignorance of the wizarding world, you are aware I could _report_ you for this, aren't you?" He tilted his head at her, the look in his eyes calculating. "I _should_ report you for this, really. Or," he volunteered, in a silky tone, "I could simply tell your _sister_."

Petunia almost shuddered at the jolt of fear and resentment that slashed through her body, but then she surprised both herself and him: "I suppose you _could_…so why aren't you going to?" she challenged coolly.

He was staring at her now; apparently, he hadn't expected her to look through his idle threat, thus rejecting his little show of power over her. "Perhaps it simply holds some fascination for me…like an accident waiting to happen," he taunted, drawing himself up. "Perhaps it's not such a terrible idea to let you make an example out of yourself, so other silly little Muggles won't meddle in affairs they don't understand."

Petunia glared at him; only minutes ago, he'd been praising her, albeit in a reluctant sort of way. He'd clearly been impressed (whether over the sheer nerve of her or whether he thought she had real talent, she wasn't sure), but was now backtracking, trying to hide it. Or perhaps, now that he thought about it, he wasn't too keen on any Muggles imposing on his turf; Lily had always told her 'Sev' had a great talent for Potions. The best thing, though, she supposed, would be to ignore it so he really _didn't_ get provoked into tattling on her. Swallowing down her biting retort, she tried to focus, rather, on the fact that he'd come to her aid.

"Thanks for the help," she gritted out, handing him the Elixir to Induce Euphoria and the Wit-sharpening Potion. "You'd honestly do me another favour if you'd take these off my hands, though."

He frowned at her, looking somewhat confused; it was the first time she'd ever seen that expression on him. Maybe he wasn't used to being given things, or being told thanks. "Really, I'm not going to use them, anyway," she insisted, and this he seemed to understand.

Giving her a curt nod, he slipped the small bottles into the spacious pockets on his overlarge coat. "I'll just find my own way out, shall I?" he said breezily, not waiting for an answer before he left.

_Before your parents come home_, seemed to be the unspoken statement.

While they hadn't made any forbidding rules as of yet, Petunia could tell her parents weren't thrilled over the concept of their daughters spending time with the scruffy-looking wizard boy from Spinner's End.

* * *

It was the summer before Lily's sixth year at Hogwarts, since her whole family had taken to describing time that way, and Petunia was haunting the playground down the street to evade her sister's gloomy mood. She'd never seen her like that before. Whenever she referred to him now, if at all, she said 'that boy' or simply 'Snape', as if that would distance them further; her tone uncharacteristically sour.

"My sister won't speak to you," Petunia said, the moment she saw him approach her where she was resting on the grass, "so it's no use asking me." Part of her secretly felt less hostile towards him simply because he had indeed insulted her sister, whom everybody usually couldn't stop complimenting…even as part of her couldn't help despising him for causing the normally sunny girl to cry. Why did family have to be such an inescapable and complicated thing?

The boy looked stung, but then he appeared to pull himself together. "Good, because that's none of your business, anyway. That's between me and Lily."

"She said you called her a very rude word," Petunia said, ignoring his warning and adding bluntly: "Mudblood. Is that like a stupid wizard curse or something?"

"That's not for Muggles like you to concern yourself with," he said, his voice tense and carrying a definite sense of finality. It seemed it was a subject he wished to avoid, which only made her want to pursue it even further.

"At least Muggles have manners," she returned haughtily, her nose wrinkling, "I'm sure I'd never call somebody anything like that."

Severus' teeth bared for a second, his lip curling in disgust. "No, you'd only call them _freaks_…which, by the way, is also a rude word in the wizarding world."

Petunia set her jaw. "Yes, well…it _must've_ been a lot worse than what I called you, because you made her _cry_."

For a brief moment, he looked devastated. Then his features returned to their cold neutrality. He looked like he was going to say something insulting, but surprised her. "That was never my intention, I assure you," he said, looking absentmindedly out across the playground, and she was struck by how adult he'd sounded for a moment; which was unfair, considering he was younger than her.

She blinked at him when he suddenly turned his attention back to her. "So…how are your little _adventures_ in potion making going?"

Petunia spent a few seconds trying to decide whether he was ridiculing her or not. Finally, she decided to ask him the humiliating question she hadn't been able to bring herself to ask Lily yet. "Severus," she began, and could tell she'd instantly caught his interest merely by using his actual name, "is there such a thing as…as a scholarship for Muggles?"

He gave her an odd look. "How d'you mean?"

Shrugging, she trained her gaze on her shoes. "I just…if I can make potions, if I even showed some talent…would there be a possibility for me to just…do _that_? Even if I can't do proper magic?" She looked up again, eyes imploring him. "Couldn't I still go to that school? Part-time or something? Or do something else in the magical world?"

Slowly, he shook his head, appearing momentarily bewildered. "I _doubt_ that would work out. There are so many things that can go wrong with potions, as I'd _assumed_ you'd have already _learned_ by now," he started chastising her, but next his tone softened just a bit, making her wonder, with acute humiliation, whether she looked _vulnerable_. "If you can't do magic," he continued, his guarded, strict expression turning a shade concerned, "then there's no way for you to protect or heal yourself if something goes wrong, or get rid of the failed potions without damaging something."

"Can't I just use that clear elixir you used that time?"

"That's not always enough, that only works in some cases…and besides, you haven't got any training or any magical education."

"But if I had some supervision, if somebody could just…" she bargained, her sentence trailing off once she registered how pathetic she sounded.

Severus gave her a long, piercing look. "You applied for Hogwarts," he said; it wasn't really a question.

A painful lump started building in her throat. "Lily told you, _didn't_ she?" Petunia demanded bitterly, her voice sounding much smaller than she would've liked.

"She did no such thing," Severus objected, scowling at her. "It doesn't take the deduction skills of Sherlock Holmes to see that you're jealous of her…because you wanted to go there, too."

The words describing her secret shame were out there, and they were awful. But not as awful as she'd imagined they'd be. "I suppose you find me silly," she pressed out, one hand clawing at the grass.

He shook his head, and then he was actually sitting down next to her on the grass. "Mostly uninformed and hopeful, I'd say."

Petunia was quiet for a long while. When she finally spoke, she sounded calmer. "Speaking of uninformed…I've been wondering…where does _Abracadabra_ come from? Does that mean anything in your world? Would anything happen if somebody with magic said it?"

A fleeting, mocking grin went across his sallow visage. "A _rabbit_ out of a _hat_, you mean?"

Pulling a withering face at him, she then rolled her eyes. "Never mind."

"You'd have to ask a professor of magical linguistics," he suggested, and she was puzzled to hear he seemed to actually be giving the foolish idea some semi-serious consideration. "Maybe it's something dating far back, something that's lost its meaning now but has somehow survived as an expression in the non-magical world."

For a moment, she wondered if he was simply hungry for conversation. As she studied the greasy-haired, hook-nosed, pale-faced boy, she imagined he hadn't got many friends at that school. Suddenly, her hands itched to wash him, which frankly disturbed her, even if she'd obviously meant it in a non-sexual way. She wondered whether her obsession with cleaning, as much as she enjoyed it, could be a little unhealthy at times.

She still wondered whether he'd be offended if she asked if she could press him to some shampoo, and then wondered if she even cared if he'd be offended or not.

"I said never mind," she said lightly, getting up and brushing the grass off of her new and delicately flower-patterned, blue summer frock. "I have to get home and cook supper, anyway," she informed him, not quite friendly, but far from dismissive. "And you should go home and mend your jumper…there's a great big hole right there on the elbow where everyone can see it."

The boy remained sitting, his expression indecipherable, but his cheeks faintly red. It seemed her last remark had affected him badly, and he didn't want her to know his humiliation.

Licking her dry lips, she shifted impatiently, lingering. "I expect I'll see you later," she prompted, when he didn't speak.

"I'm forced to stay at this miserable place until September first as usual, yes," he said, in the same non-committal tone she'd used.

Nodding, she walked home.

* * *

Severus was back for the sixth year Christmas holidays, just like Lily, and he actually came right up to their door instead of skulking around outside. When Petunia tip-toed downstairs, they were deep in a hushed, but heated conversation. From the living room, she could hear him murmuring back and forth with her sister on the doorstep.

Petunia only sat still on the sofa and kept pretending to read her book, gradually leaning towards the door until her side hit the arm rest, her ears straining.

"…but won't your dear Death Eater _friends_ disapprove of what you've done, once they find out?" she heard her sister hissing reproachfully, "Won't they accuse you of 'contaminating' the 'pure' magical world or something?"

Petunia frowned; she'd have to ask Lily about 'Death Eaters' later. They way she'd said it, it sounded like some sort of club for a questionable sort of people. In Petunia's views, though, 'questionable' included a lot of people, so it could mean anything.

Next, she could practically _hear_ the boy squirming uneasily; could picture his sallow face, contorted in an awkward grimace. "Yes, well…I shall have to cross that bridge later, _if_ they find out…"

There came an exasperated sigh from Lily. "Oh, Sev…"

"Sorry," she thought she heard the boy say, then, and he sounded shy, almost subdued; yet there was an undertone of frustration. "Lily, I really am sorry."

"Just don't ever say that word again," she heard her sister reply, her voice louder and harder, but not entirely unforgiving.

"Never," he muttered; Petunia thought she heard him shuffling his feet. She suppressed a snort; served the git right, being all nervous. Petunia had questioned Lily further about 'Mudblood', and discovered it was a _very_ bad word indeed. It seemed that _some_ wizards and witches viewed people like Lily as barely above Muggles, who they in turn viewed as worthless. Yet Petunia still wasn't quite certain how to feel about that; offended on her sister's behalf, or somewhat gratified on her own.

When Lily came back into the living room, she was carrying a tiny wrapped Christmas gift, smiling softly to herself. Sitting up, Petunia realised she still hadn't heard the front door close. Discarding her book, she stood up from the sofa.

Just as she opened her mouth to speak, to ask, Lily beat her to it. "Sev wants a word with you," she said, grinning with conspiratorial glee at Petunia, as if there was something amusing about that.

Petunia clucked her tongue disapprovingly. "Oh, so now it's 'Sev' again, is it? I thought you'd decided you two weren't friends any longer?"

Lily groaned, looking faintly uncomfortable. "Come off it, Tuney…just go and hear what he has to say, all right?"

Rolling her eyes to hide her curiosity, Petunia walked out to meet him at the door. Leaning against the door frame, she gave Severus a sceptical look, scrutinizing his usual old, large coat, but new-looking, long silver-and-green scarf and equally unfamiliar black woollen hat that was covering up his miserable hair. "I'm glad you've said you're sorry, because even my little sister deserves an apology," she said, scowling at him, "but I hope you don't think it means you're anything more than friends now just because you're forgiven, because that's a sad delusion that'll only end in—"

"There's just _so_ much you feel the need to comment on that's _really_ none of your business," Severus interrupted coldly, "I expect you'll evolve into the neighbourhood gossip in whatever tedious suburb you move to in future."

"Lily said you had something to tell me," Petunia said, projecting impatience at him with everything she had.

"Now that I've met you and your _charming_ self in person again, I've no idea what ever possessed me to do what I did," Severus said, icy disdain permeating every syllable.

"Which was _what_?" she prodded, her curiosity getting the better of her again.

Severus released a heavy sigh. "Against my better judgement, I passed your potions on to Dumbledore, along with your name."

It took a moment before Petunia remembered how to speak. "But hadn't they gone a bit off by now? It's been over a year."

"Oh, potions can keep quite well…if you know how to keep them," Severus said enigmatically, unable to keep a hint of pride out of his voice.

"And what did he say?" Petunia refused to acknowledge the fact that her voice was actually _shaking_ now.

"It turns out I was right, and there really is no such thing as a scholarship for Muggles, so you still won't be able to attend Hogwarts, even for Potions," Severus said, apparently not realizing that her stomach was plummeting to her feet with the crushing disappointment, because he only went on: "However, it appears that for some reason, Dumbledore has taken an interest in you, and wants to arrange a meeting between the two of you and the current Potions master, Professor Slughorn. It seems he feels you've got some talent for precision and details," he volunteered grudgingly, before sniffing and adding: "If you ask me, Dumbledore probably just wants to make certain you'll be prevented from causing any _real_ trouble, but…either way, he still wants to set an appointment with you. I expect he'll send you an owl soon with a formal invitation."

Now, Petunia seemed to have forgot how to _breathe_. Struggling with the overpowering feeling of surrealism, she wondered dreamily whether this 'professor Slughorn' was Lily's 'Sluggy'. When she finally drew a breath, the first word she blurted out was her sister's name. She couldn't help it.

"LILY!" she bellowed, her heartbeat thundering along with her footsteps as she ran inside the house to tell her sister the news.

It wasn't until that evening that it occurred to Petunia that even if Lily seemed not to know, Severus must've already told Lily, because what Severus had done for Lily's sister must've been the main reason Lily had even forgiven him in the first place; Lily had been so upset that it _must've_ taken something special to change her mind. It couldn't possibly just have been the silly little gift she'd received. The realization almost made Petunia want to forgive _her_, too.

When Petunia discovered that Lily was professor Slughorn's favourite student, she nearly felt like strangling her, but only for a moment…because this time, at least she was in a position to compete with her sister, instead of merely being on the outside of that other world, looking in.

**The End.**

* * *

**Author's notes: **This obviously isn't really a romance as such, but…whoa, Petunia and Snape, fun crack pairing much? XD Still, it just makes some sorta sense to me to have these two talking together. And no, I don't ship Snape and Lily, either. If you want to, you can pretend that Snape and Petunia get together at some point after her venture into the wizarding world; I don't really mind. It's an alternate universe, anyway. XD

The lyrics in the first chapter refer to Petunia's love for her sister, though, if that wasn't already clear. ;)

Heh, I actually had to rewrite some of the dialogue because Snape didn't sound Snapey enough. I guess I'm not used to writing somebody as snide and resentful as Snape. Of course, teenage Snape isn't supposed to be as bad as adult Snape, but Petunia doesn't exactly bring out the best in him like Lily does, I dunno.

Both Petunia and Snape were very difficult to write as teenagers, really. :P

**Potions: **I assumed even Snape would be a bit chattier when it came to his "area of expertise" and wouldn't be able to stop his curiosity when he saw an ordinary Muggle making Potions. Considering Lily's talent for Potions as well, I figured it wasn't that far-fetched for her to be interested enough to ask around for more complicated stuff.

I also thought that Snape doing something like this for her sister, a Muggle that he dislikes, might make Lily forgive him, especially since what he did remedies some of Petunia's issues with her sister's magical abilities. I'll leave it up to you to decide whether it was done purely to earn Lily's forgiveness or if Snape had also developed a grudging respect for Petunia's unexpected talents and wanted to give them a chance to be honed under the care of Dumbles and Sluggy. :P


End file.
